


Another Hug

by robbiebabe



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robbiebabe/pseuds/robbiebabe
Summary: Rob and Misha find themselves stuck in an elevator where they talk some things out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't _plan_ for this to turn into an elevator trope fic but that's what it wanted to be. Could probably do with some editing but what the heck, it's RPF.

****“I think I had too much to drink,” Rob mumbles against Misha’s back where he’s standing at the edge of the bar. The others are at a table not far from them, busy listening to whatever story is being told.

Misha turns around carefully and brings his arm around Rob’s shoulders. Rob is a rockstar - never let it be said he can’t take care of himself - but most of them are always a little extra protective of him. Especially those of them who had known each other the longest. “How much is too much?” Misha leans down slightly to say. 

Rob just stares up at him, his line of sight somewhere in the vicinity of Misha’s lips. His eyes a slightly glassy and his face is flushed. “Um,” Rob says. “Too much.“ 

“Are you okay?” Misha asks, suddenly worried that there’s something other than alcohol messing his friend up. 

“Of course I’m okay,” Rob says adamantly, now squinting at Misha. 

Misha brings the back of his hand up to Rob’s forehead, just to make sure. Rob leans into it, but he doesn’t feel feverish at all. “I think you’re fine,” Misha murmurs, and contemplates the best course of action. Rich isn’t here tonight, or he’d ask _him_  to take Rob up to his hotel room. He looks at the people at their table and concludes that out of them he’s the one who knows Rob the best. He thinks about helping Rob up to his room, just to make sure he’s safe and everything’s as it should be. Had they been at a bar far away from the hotel, he might have just sat Rob down again and make him drink some water, but right now they’re at the hotel bar, and he might as well get Rob home so he can sleep it off. He doesn’t say as much to his friend, of course, who would no doubt protest if he knew what Misha had decided. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says instead, leading Rob out of the establishment with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

Rob lets himself be led, as per usual when he is inebriated. Rob is soft and cuddly whether he’s drunk or not, but when he’s drunk he doesn’t feel embarrassed about it. This is probably why they gravitate towards each other when they’re drunk, Misha thinks. It makes them both feel free, and while Misha doesn’t know how Rob feels about the whole thing, he knows that _he_ at least sees Rob as a sort of reflection of his freedom. When he’s drunk, Misha has a hard time hiding how attractive he thinks Rob is. In the past, this unfortunate fact has led to several instances of some suggestive touching. He’s suddenly both thankful and a little mournful that he himself just got to the bar - he got held up earlier and hasn’t had a chance to drink more than a single beer tonight. 

“Where are we going?” Rob asks, turning around to look at Misha and stopping. Distracted by his thoughts, Misha nearly stumbles into him, and feels Rob’s arms grab onto his shoulders, presumably to prevent himself from losing his balance. 

“I was gonna make sure you got back to your room okay,” he says. He knows he should take a step back just to put some respectable distance between them, but he doesn’t want to. 

“I don’t want to leave yet,” Rob whines. “It’s still earl-” he cuts himself off by yawning, and Misha can’t help but smile fondly down at him. He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge. “Fine,” Rob says after a beat of awkward eye contact. He takes a step back on his own, only swaying a little on his feet where he stands unsupported. They’re halfway to the elevators. “You don’t have to come with me,” he yawns again, “I’ll be fine." 

“I want to come,” Misha says firmly, “it won’t take long.” 

Being decisive is the key when dealing with drunk Rob, he has discovered through the years. Sure enough, Rob mutters an okay and turns around to head for the elevators. After getting inside, Rob leans against the wall with a faraway look in his eyes, leaving Misha to hurriedly fish out his keycard and put it in the slot before he presses the button for their floor. The elevator doors close and they start moving. Until suddenly they come to an abrupt stop. The lights in the elevator flicker. Rob and Misha’s eyes meet in the intermittent darkness and they hold a collective breath, hoping it’ll sort itself out quickly. It doesn’t. The lights go out entirely. 

“Shit,” Misha says. 

“Shit,” Rob echoes. 

They find the emergency button, but nothing happens when they push it. Misha goes to lean against the wall next to Rob. He takes out his phone and fires away a group text to all the people downstairs, hoping that then at least one of them will see it. 

“What are we gonna do?” Rob says, and his hands shake as he grips the rail behind him. It looks uncomfortable. 

“I think we just have to wait,” Misha says. 

Rob takes a couple shaky breaths in the dark next to him. Misha doesn’t think Rob is claustrophobic, or afraid of the dark, but the situation is unsettling nonetheless. He finds himself, as he usually does when something unsettling happens, wanting to make Rob feel at ease. After another couple minutes where nothing happens, Misha thinks fuck it and puts his arm around Rob. Rob sneaks his hand behind Misha, around his waist, and holds on. 

“If you hadn’t insisted on coming with me, you wouldn’t have been here right now,” Rob says. 

Misha squints at his friend, trying to see how his eyes look, because it’s pretty clear from his voice that the whole thing has sobered him up slightly. “Then you would have been in here alone,” he points out. 

“That’s true,” Rob says. “But it shouldn’t take them this long to fix it, surely,” he says, sounding increasingly worried. 

“We’ve done all we can,” Misha reminds him. Suddenly the elevator comes back to life. It lurches down, then up, then down again. It stops for a few seconds, and other than Rob’s heavy breathing next to him, it’s silent. The elevator jumps again several times, before coming to another stop. Rob has grabbed onto him with both arms. The lights are back on, but the elevator is still stationary and the doors remain closed. 

 “Robbie?” he says. “You okay?" 

“Yeah, fine,” Rob answers tersely. 

“I’m going to check the emergency thing,” Misha says. Tries to dislocate himself from Rob, who doesn’t let go. Misha puts his arm back around Rob and walks them both over to the panel, pressing the distress button once again. This time a distorted voice comes through the little speaker. “Anybody in there?” it says. “Yes,” Misha says clearly into the microphone. “Two of us, we’re both okay." 

“Good,” the voice replies. “We were just about to get you out of there, just ran into a little trouble. Should be another five minutes or so, then we’ll have you on the ground." 

“Okay, thank you." 

He turns back to Rob, who has let go of him since the conversation began and is now standing with his face in his hands. 

“Fuck,” Rob mumbles. 

“What’s wrong?" 

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing is wrong." 

He’s not looking up, which doesn’t exactly make Misha more inclined to believe him. He wants to touch him, but is unsure if he should. He settles for putting a careful hand on Rob’s right shoulder, his non-dominant side. Tries to make himself look non-threatening, in case Rob is feeling boxed in or something. As he feared would happen, Rob jerks back from his touch, but at least he takes his hands off his face and makes eye contact with Misha. 

“You fuck me up, you know that?” Rob says, and Misha suddenly feels wary. 

“Rob-" 

“All my life I’ve been happy with what I’ve got- I mean- I’ve been fucking ecstatic!" 

Misha fears he knows where this is going, and it’s not something he wants to hear. “Rob, let’s not do this,” he says. 

Rob scoffs at him. “You think I want to do this?” he says, not looking him in the eye anymore. “I have to do something.” he sounds fragile. “Or else it’s all just fucking pathetic." 

Misha can’t cut himself off from what he’s feeling. The air has been charged between them for as long as he can remember, and the more they’ve gotten to know each other the more in tune with each other they have become, and it’s hard to feel a connection like that without developing some kind of ambition. He thinks of Vicki. He knows they could do this right, at least from his point of view. He could talk to his wife about it - more than what vague things he has already said. Could get permission for - something. But even though that’s what they’ve said they’ll do, if something like that ever comes up, it still feels odd to actually do it. They never have, as of yet. 

“It is what it is, Rob,” he says finally, trying to catch Rob’s gaze. When he does, he brings his hands up to cup Rob’s face, trying to ground him more than anything, because it scares him to see Rob so scattered. 

“It’s not just me, right?” Rob says, desolate. 

“No, of course not,” Misha says quietly and brings him in to hug him, to keep himself from doing something else. A moment passes, and he feels Rob’s hands slip under his shirt, making him shiver. Rob hugs him tight, puts his chin against Misha’s shoulder by standing on his toes, and has his arms literally wrapped around Misha’s back, underneath his shirt. His hands are warm. Misha finds himself running his fingers through Rob’s hair, his other hand moving up and down on Rob’s back, touching him more intently than he’s ever done before. He feels Rob’s soft breaths against his neck, and begins to get hard. He has taken Rob’s face into his hand and is pushing him back slightly, just about to put their mouths together, when the elevator starts moving again, this time much more smoothly. 

They don’t spring apart. There’s no urgency. Misha lets his hand fall down to Rob’s shoulder and pushes him gently back down to stand firmly on the ground. Then he steps back, and feels another jolt of arousal as Rob’s hands skim across his stomach before they’re out of each other’s reach. Misha bites his lip subconsciously and sees Rob staring at him. The doors open, and thankfully nobody is waiting for them except the staff. 

“Thank god you’re both okay,” a man in a yellow vest with a walkie talkie strapped to it says, relieved. 

Misha’s not so sure about that. 

“I think I’m gonna take the stairs,” Rob says in his high, nervous pitch, and escapes into the stairwell through the door beside the two elevators. 

“The other elevator works fine,” the man in the vest says to him, but Misha just scoffs. 

“I think I’ll pass,” he says, and it doesn’t look as though the man is surprised by this. 

But he doesn’t follow Rob. Instead he walks towards the lobby and straight out of the hotel. It’s Chicago. The wind is cold. It feels good on his flushed skin. He takes his phone out to text his friends that everything worked out. Then he brings up Rob in his contact list and presses the call button. There’s no reply. It’s probably for the best. It’s not like he knows what he would have said, anyway. 


End file.
